Breaking the Fourth Wall
by Lauren Order
Summary: John stumbles upon a fanfiction site and can't believe his eyes. Sherlock tries to provide his best explanation for the phenomenon, but the whole thing becomes an argument. Perhaps soon we will see Sherlock writing fanfiction of his own...?
1. Chapter 1

Breaking the Fourth Wall

"This is getting ridiculous," John said as he scrolled through the results on his computer screen. "Would you believe that people are writing _stories_ about us?"

"Of course I would. Teenagers are obsessed with creating their own stories based on figments of their imaginations."

John just stared at Sherlock. "Are you saying… that we're figments of their imaginations? Whatever happened to 'I think, therefore I am?'"

"Don't even get me started on Descartes, and no, of course we're not parts of their imaginations. But their impression of us is certainly make-believe," Sherlock said.

"That's nice… but why us? Why teenagers? What I mean to say is, how the _hell_ can they know who we are?"

"Two men in the twenty-first century who have an impeccable working relationship and happen to be living together. They both help Scotland Yard solve their toughest crimes. They are not romantically involved with anyone at the moment. Don't you think people are expecting so much more from us?" Sherlock asked John.

"Well, I mean… you do recall what Mycroft said about the both of-"

"That will be enough about Mycroft. His opinion does not matter to me in the least. Besides, he's not even part of the demographic we're discussing."

"Obviously, you haven't seen this fanfiction site, then. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that 'MotherAlwaysLikedMeBest' is someone that we know. And look at this, he's written at least six different stories! 'Girlock Holmes- Crossdressing at the Age of Five,' 'That One Time He Was Wrong and I Was Right,' 'Flatmates, Friends, or Further?'… you know what, I think I should stop here. But the list goes on and on!" John said.

"Is there… anyone else we might know…?" Sherlock muttered apprehensively.

"No, it seems that the rest of them are indeed teenagers. Well, wait a minute… 'ThisIsNotLestrade.' Do you think he's stupid enough to make that his username?"

"… I wouldn't put it past him. But he is a somewhat intelligent man. Well, by your standards, not mine. The real question here is what type of stories he (or she!) has posted." Sherlock looked like he was concentrating just as intently as if he were trying to find a murderer.

"Let's see… 'A Study in Pink,' 'The Blind Banker,' 'The Great Game'… wait a minute! What a little- I swear, I worked forever on these and then he just posts them up here like he came up with them! What is his problem?" John cried, getting angrier by the second.

"John, please. Calm yourself and let me see that computer for a moment. I'm going to check something," Sherlock said, walking over to where John was sitting, still seething with rage.

"All right, but make it quick. I wanted to read fanfictions about The Hobbit; that was why I was even on this site in the first place."

"All in due time," Sherlock said as he started typing seemingly random letters. When he was done, he hit "enter". "There you are. It's the real Lestrade."

"Does this mean you know everyone's passwords, Sherlock? Including mine?" John said, glaring at him.

"I don't need to know yours because I know you would never post damaging information about me. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for Lestrade. Not while he still works with the rest of those idiots."

John sighed. "Please, this is going a bit too far. I understand you have to keep up your mysterious allure, but really. Respect a person's privacy once in a while, will you?"

"Is this just an excuse to call me out on that time when I supposedly 'invaded your privacy?'"

"Well, you did! Sherlock, there is a reason we have two bedrooms. You can't just climb into my bed whenever you feel like it!"

"I needed your memory foam mattress to help me remember something," Sherlock started explaining.

"That isn't even how it works! Look! There's the sun! We go around it! Look! Here's my bed! It does not help mental capabilities in the least!" John said as he started running frantically around the room pointing out the window and then towards his bedroom. "You're just so frustrating!"

Sherlock stood where he was and just blinked. "All right. I'm frustrating. That's not a problem. Are you going to continue with this fanfiction business?"

_There was just no reaching that man,_ John thought to himself. He sat back down in front of his computer.

After five minutes, he nearly jumped out of his chair. "Sherlock! I think this is… uh… him? Maybe?"

"What? Who are you talking about?"

"Moriarty. I can't be sure, though. Calls himself 'Army_Riot', which anagrams to 'Moriarty'."

"You did that in your head? I'm proud of you, John. You might be learning a thing or two."

"Anyway, his stories are… interesting. 'What I Saw Sherlock Doing Last Night Through His Bedroom Window'… Oh my god, Sherlock, is this true?" John asked.

"WHAT. Let me see that right now."

"Uh… on second thought, maybe I want to read this instead of The Hobbit. What the… Sherlock? You have a picture of me on your pillow? What is this? I mean? Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" With each word he read, John became more and more frightened.

"Give. Me. The. Computer. Now." Sherlock demanded.

John picked up his laptop and started running out the door with it. "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock won't let me use my belongings again!"

"Oh, stop it. That's not what I meant. I just need to know if I was spied on last night. It's rather important."

"Sherlock! You be nice to this young man!" Mrs. Hudson yelled from downstairs. "Also, I'm running out of jam. So I can only comfort him so many more times before I have to go to the store again."

It was time for drastic measures. He would just have to use his own computer.

After a bit of searching, Sherlock found the story in question. "I can't… no… John knows my secret," he whispered to himself. "I must not let him know."

Then he read the footnote. "P.S. This is all one hundred percent true. If you don't believe me, here's a picture." Indeed, there was a picture of Sherlock in a compromising situation in his bedroom involving a photograph of John Watson.

_First, Moriarty humiliates me. Then he leaves it for John to see, thereby destroying our relationship. I WILL get my revenge._

Sherlock decided his best course of action would be to retaliate. He would write his own opposing fanfiction. For now, he settled on leaving a comment on the story.

_"Fuck you. -SH"_


	2. Chapter 2

_**a/n: All right, I lied. No longer a oneshot, this is the 3**__**rd**__** person account of the whole thing, in which you can read about John's (adorable) reactions to the conflict unfolding via the other stories. And get more crackfic, basically.**_

"…Sherlock. I'm not stupid," came John's voice from the other room.

"Excellent conclusion, because if you_ were_ stupid, then I most certainly would not be associating with you."

"No, I think you're missing the point here. Yet again. You're too involved in your own world to notice what I'm even talking about. Or should I say, you're too involved in writing about rainbows and happiness?" John said accusingly as he walked in the room.

That got his attention. Sherlock stopped typing and looked intently at John. "Please, go on with whatever ridiculous claim you were about to make."

"Sherlock. 'Rose Shlock Helm' has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Are you forgetting that I figured out Moriarty's identity in less than a minute?"

"Of course I didn't forget. It was the one moment your intelligence broke through your inability to look at the entire issue at hand," Sherlock muttered, clearly irritated.

"Well then, you must have _wanted _me to see this for some sick reason. And not the message part. The rest of it."

"You still believe Moriarty actually took a photo of me, don't you? Well, I can assure you it's a fake. For example, look at how this picture of you is not even a picture of you… it's of… _Moriarty_?" Sherlock shouted in disbelief.

"Yeah, I decided to take the piss out of both of you, because this entire thing is out of hand. So there's the new picture, courtesy of myself."

"I don't even care that you did that; I'm just in shock that you know how to edit photos!" Sherlock said condescendingly.

"…Annnnd _that_ is why I did it. You never learn to leave things alone. Give a bloke a rest once in a while, will you? I know I'm not the brightest, but you don't have to rub it in my face!" John stormed out of the room.

"That was obviously an overreaction," Sherlock said to himself. Although he had to admit, he was feeling the beginnings of what could become guilt. _Perhaps I should think before I speak,_ he thought.

Meanwhile, John was sulking in some faraway corner of the world (in other words, his bedroom). And by sulking, he was actually taking further revenge. Sherlock had let his guard down, and that was all he needed to figure out the password to Rose S. Helm's account… John knew he was much, much more intelligent than Sherlock would ever know… right?

But now a new thought crossed his mind. Sherlock had never denied wanting John to read that story. Interesting. Perhaps Rose would have something to say about this development.


	3. Chapter 3

_**a/n: Make sure you read the latest chapter of "The Truth" in order to understand this chapter!**_

"LOL? Really, now. Nobody types L-O-L in all caps anymore, John. Same with O-M-G. And this took you how long to type? Four hours?"

John stared intently at the pen he was tapping on the desk in front of him. "Sherlock, I understand that maybe my fics aren't up to your impossible standards, but at least I tried. And for your information, I can't help it that I type so slowly."

"Yes, you can take a typing course. But that's not the point. The point is that all established fic writers have a beta who proofreads the work for stupid little errors like that. Nobody would believe that a young girl wrote that chapter!" Sherlock said condescendingly.

"You think throwing this ridiculous terminology around is going to help anything?" John asked angrily. "Well, it won't. And I know for a fact that beta readers aren't always necessary. Some of my favourite writers self-edit! There's nothing wrong with that!"

Sherlock stared at John. "We both know this isn't what we're actually arguing about, so why don't I mention that delicate topic you've tried so hard to avoid. I can tell by your painfully obvious secret message that you think Moriarty's lie was the truth. I can assure you this isn't the case. If I were in love with you, I would have no problem sitting here and looking you straight in the eye and saying, 'John Watson, I am in love with you.'"

"But you did just that," John pointed out.

"That seems to be the case. You aren't by any chance in love with me, are you?" Sherlock said, looking at John expectantly.

"Uh… no. Definitely not. Nope."

"Then this would be a good time to say I was completely joking."

An awkward silence fell as both of them looked away from each other.

Sherlock started speaking again, breaking the silence. "I mean, not that you're not loveable. Because you are. It's just that I think maybe I should write a fic about our actual life together? And maybe we could co-author it?"

"Smooth, real smooth, Sherlock," John mumbled. "But isn't that what we've been doing all along?"

"I guess that might be as close to the truth as we'll get. Well, except for that bothersome matter of Moriarty interfering with everything. The next update he posts will probably be from the things he's recorded just now," Sherlock said as he reached for the wall clock. He took it down from its place near the couch (it had been a gift from Mrs Hudson to cover up the marks on the wall from when Sherlock was 'bored') and opened the back of it, where the battery was located. He pulled out what seemed to be some kind of recording device.

"He's bugged the flat?" John asked incredulously.

"No, he's hacked into the system I set up," Sherlock replied. "This would explain how he managed to supposedly 'look in the windows'. I knew I should have taken this stuff down, but it never crossed my mind that they were still in working condition…"

"You set this up? Are there cameras and microphones in every room in this place?"

"Not in the loo. That would be psychopathic behaviour."

"So then, having this type of thing in all the _other_ rooms in the flat is just high-functioning sociopathic behaviour?"

"Probably."

"Maybe I love you after all."


End file.
